


all my dawns and dusks before me

by language_escapes



Series: Instead of My Saints 'verse [4]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elle leaves, knowing it will break her family's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my dawns and dusks before me

**Author's Note:**

> The story of Elle's leaving in the Instead of My Saints 'verse.

The day Elle graduates, she begins making phone calls. She drags the phone into her room, nudges the cord into the crack, and shuts the door. She goes through every place in the phone book, making sure that her voice sparkles and is warm. Sometimes, she hears footsteps outside her door, but they never linger long. She almost feels bad for Emily, who ends up hanging out with Derek and Penelope until Elle opens the door again. Almost. But she likes to think that Emily would understand, at least a little bit.

The family loves her, but the family is suffocating her.

Two weeks after she graduates, she stays up late making phone calls. When she puts the phone back, she sees Emily leaning against the wall in the hallway. Emily stares at her for a moment, eyes wide and dark, and then disappears into the room. Elle swallows heavily, runs a hand across her mouth, and then slips down the stairs and into the kitchen.

It’s late; Mom is asleep already, trusting that Spencer doesn’t need someone to remind him to go to sleep, and if he does, that Derek will take care of it. Dad’s light is on in his office, but that doesn’t mean anything. It often is. The door’s been shut since nine, and Elle knows from experience that it won’t open again until Mom goes stumbling in at five in the morning to wake him up. So she feels safe to sneak over to alcohol cupboard, pick the lock, and pour herself a glass of wine. She’s not legal, but she’s been sneaking beer at friend’s houses for years. She doesn’t get stupid, and she doesn’t drive, so it doesn’t bother her conscience. Elle doesn’t think Dad would flip out either. Mom, on the other hand…

When one am hits, she’s only half way through the glass. It’s red wine, so it’s probably Dad’s. He drinks less often than Mom- Mom sometimes has a glass of wine at dinner, but even that’s rare. They’re not really a drinking family. Elle has heard rumors from Derek and JJ that the only reason they’re together is because Mom and Dad got super drunk one night, but Elle doesn’t believe it. She can’t imagine either of them drunk. She raises the glass to her lips and lets the bitter alcohol burn on the way down. It stings, just a little. There are lots of things that sting.

A small cough comes from the doorway, and Elle spins in her seat, managing to not drop the glass in her panic. Spencer is standing there, looking small and stupid in his pajamas, glasses missing and hair rumpled. Elle puts the glass down and presses a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath the bone. Then she glares.

“Spencer! What the hell were you thinking, you gave me a heart attack!” she hisses, irritated but not really angry. It’s hard to be angry at Spencer.

He looks pointedly at the glass of wine, and Elle shrugs a shoulder. She’s not going to justify herself to an ten-year-old kid, even if that ten-year-old is her foster brother, even if he is only two years behind her in school. He frowns thoughtfully, and then shuffles into the room, carefully pulling out a chair and clambering up into it. She’d scold him, but he’s quiet, which is the important part.

“What are you doing up?” he whispers. Elle sighs.

“Thinking,” she answers, not answering anything. She learned the trick of the non-answer from Mom and Dad. They’re kings at it. Spencer’s lips quirk downwards again, and he swallows, his arms wrapping around himself tightly.

“About what?”

“Life. Past and present.”

“Not future?”

Elle picks up the glass of wine and takes another small sip. She prefers white wine, but she doesn’t feel like being picky tonight. “Future too.”

Spencer watches her for a moment, and then shifts in his chair, pajama sleeves rustling as he pulls them over his hands. Even in the darkness Elle can see that his fingernails are getting too long again.

“You leave for UCLA in the fall, right?” he asks, and Elle looks over at him. His eyes are opened painfully wide, and Elle can’t help but smile. He’s just a kid. He’s probably the smartest one in the house, but he’s still just a kid. He’s always been her favorite. Elle knows it’s wrong to play favorites, but she does. Derek is cool, and she doesn’t mind hanging out with him, but Spencer has always understood her best. They’ve always watched each other’s backs. They’ve guarded each other’s secrets. Around Derek, she’s chill and plays the role of the awesome older sister. With Spencer, she’s herself. With some censoring. There are some things you don’t say around a kid. But she’s always been honest with him, and he with her.

It kills her to lie to him.

“Yeah, I start in the fall. Sociology. Maybe Women’s Studies. I don’t know yet,” she says, making sure that she’s not actually lying. Not outright. The words are all true.

Spencer stares at her again, for a long time, and Elle can practically see the gears turning in his head. She takes another small sip of wine, hoping he won’t see all the things she’s not saying. After a drawn out moment, Spencer finally blinks, and then licks his lips, eyes refocusing to the glass in her hand.

“Can I try some?” he asks, and it’s such a sudden change of topic that it startles a small laugh out of Elle. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, and they sit in silence for a moment, listening for movement from Dad’s office. They wait for almost a minute before Elle takes her hand down from her mouth and grins.

“No way, kiddo,” she says. She lifts the glass one more time and drains the last of the wine. Spencer makes a face at her, and she laughs again, this time quieter. Elle stands up and rinses the glass out, and then carefully puts it back in the cupboard. It would be gross, but everyone shares germs anyway, and she can’t risk getting caught with a dirty wine glass. She walks back over to Spencer and ruffles his hair. “C’mon, let’s go to bed. It’s late.”

Spencer hops down from the chair silently and they walk up the stairs together, simultaneously skipping the squeaky ninth step. Elle bites her lip as she grins again. They’ve got each other’s backs.

She walks him down the hall to the bedroom he shares with Derek and stops outside of the door. She jerks her head toward the door, but Spencer remains rooted to the spot. Then he turns suddenly and hugs her, tightly, around the waist. He lets her go after a second, and carefully slips back into his bedroom. Elle’s throat feels tight, and her skin feels hot, and she blinks her eyes rapidly to get rid of any tears that are forming. When she feels that she has control over herself again, she walks down the hall to her bedroom and slides inside.

It’s dark. Emily is lying in her bed. Elle looks around the room. She’s stayed in this room for three years, and it’s been her longest foster stay ever. The only place she’s lived at longer was her real home, with her real dad. Her things are spread out all over the room. Clothes hanging up, and thrown on the floor. A few necklaces and bracelets lying about. A couple of books she’s fond of, a photo album of her real dad and her together at some police picnic thing. Shoes. Her cassettes and CDs. Her camera. Another photo album, a gift from the family on her birthday, this one full of pictures of the family. Her throat closes again as she picks it up and flips through it. She tries to not linger at any particular picture, but she inevitably stops at the family portrait.

It’s a year old now, and they look a little different, but it’s them. They’re standing and grinning, and the Elle in the photograph looks happy and content, JJ leaning against her, looking proud and confident. Elle’s arm is around Derek’s waist and her other hand on Emily’s shoulder. Dad is looking straight at the camera, his smile broad, the worry lines around his eyes relaxed. Spencer is huddled into him, smiling bashfully out at the camera, his left hand in Penelope’s. Penelope isn’t looking at the camera; she’s grinning up at Derek, who has an arm wrapped around her chest and his head on top of hers. Emily is the only one who looks like she’s prepared for the photo, her smile polished and prim, but her eyes are sparkling with genuine happiness. On the far side of Emily stands Mom, whose smile is smaller than everyone else’s, almost wistful as he looks over the entire family.

And then she can’t see the photo anymore, because her eyes are too full of tears. She hurriedly shuts the album and wipes the tears away. She’s made her decision. There is no room for tears.

As quietly as possible, she begins putting her things into the suitcases she came with. They’re small; she had less stuff then, but she had been starting over. Elle smirks bitterly to herself as she crams as many clothes as possible into the first suitcase. She’s starting over again this time, too. It only makes sense to use the small suitcases.

She leaves behind her sweaters, her jackets. She only brings two pairs of jeans. Only three turtlenecks. She throws in all of her short sleeve shirts and tank tops, and any short but professional skirts she owns. She fills two suitcases. Elle looks through the closet one more time, to see if there is anything she absolutely must bring. Her eyes linger on two sweaters. The first, Mom made for her, for her first Christmas with them. The second is misshapen and ugly. Elle smiles faintly. It was the first sweater that Penelope ever made. Elle hesitates, and then opens one of her suitcases again, pulling out her jeans and tossing them back on her bed, shoving the two sweaters in instead. She can buy new jeans in California. She can’t buy love. She can’t buy memories.

After her clothes are packed, she moves quickly through the room, packing anything of value. Most of her necklaces come; she puts them all around her neck so that they don’t get tangled and caught in the suitcases. She brings her favorite book, and her three favorite cassettes. She shoves the photo albums into her pillow case, along with her favorite stuffed animal. Four rings on her fingers, six bracelets on her arm. Letters and cards that she saved from the family get shoved into the pillowcase as well.

Finally, she’s done. It’s four in the morning. Only an hour until Mom will get up to wake Dad. Her eyes itch and sting; not crying is almost as hard on the eyes as crying is. She rubs them irritably, and takes a deep breath. She changes into a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a jean jacket, and then grabs the two suitcases in one hand, her overly full pillow in the other. Then, as quietly as she can, she walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs, skipping over the squeaky stair.

She grabs her car keys off the side table and carefully unlocks the door and slips outside. Elle is sliding the house key into the lock when movement to the right of her catches her eye. She turns quickly, raising her hands to fight, and then lowers them when she realizes who it is.

Mom is sitting on the porch swing, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and looking straight at her.

Elle nearly drops her things, but tightens her grip at the last moment. Mom’s eyes don’t flicker away from her face, and her mouth goes dry, anticipating a fight. Elle takes a shaky breath, and then glides down off the porch, marching for her car. She isn’t going to be the one to start this fight. She isn’t going to do this. She’s done with this, with all of this.

She shoves her things into the backseat of her crappy little Jeep, and shuts the door, not bothering to do it silently. No one wakes up to the sound of car doors slamming. Mom drifts off the porch. He’s wearing the pink bunny slippers that Penelope gave him for Christmas a few years back. She’d removed the eyes and sewed black X’s where they used to be. Elle finds them a little bit morbid, and a little bit cute. She’s never been able to decide which won out. Elle focuses on the slippers, rather than looking at Mom’s face.

He stops in front of her, but he doesn’t say anything. Elle swallows and twists the keys in her hands. Finally, he inhales, and Elle knows he’s going to say something. She prepares herself for a lecture.

Instead, she gets, “Weren’t you going to say good-bye?”

Elle looks up, startled. Mom’s face is blank, brown eyes solemn. He doesn’t look angry, the way she thought he would. He doesn’t look like he’s going to rip the keys out of her hand and send her back up to her room.

She almost wishes he would.

“It would be too hard,” she says, and her voice is foreign to her, cracked and harsh, struggling to hold back tears.

“I see,” he says, and suddenly she’s angry. She’s angry at him for being so understanding, she’s angry at the family for loving her, and she’s angry at the year for sucking so bad.

“It’s been so hard, this year, and I…” Elle trails off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. She wipes the tears off her cheeks and looks Mom hard in the eyes. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending that everything is ok, when it’s not.”

Mom holds her gaze, and then closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then exhales. He opens his eyes and nods.

“What do I tell the others?” he asks, his voice breaking, just a little. Elle fights back the tears. She doesn’t know what Mom should tell them. She doesn’t know what to say. How does she tell the only real family she’s ever had that she’s running away? And not just running away, but running away _from them_?

For a moment, she remembers Emily’s eyes in the dark. Wide, frightened. Knowing. Emily has known that Elle was planning to run for months. If Elle knows Emily, then Emily knew before she did.

“Tell them that I’ll miss them,” Elle finally says. It’s a simple answer, but it’s a real one.

“Will you call, or write?” Mom asks, shifting his weight to his right leg.

“Probably not,” she says plainly. She’s apparently feeling honest.

Mom nods again, and then steps back. He doesn’t tell her how this is going to kill Spencer. He doesn’t tell her how Derek is going to feel so betrayed. He doesn’t tell her that Penelope and JJ just aren’t going to understand this, and are going to look for what they did to drive her away. He doesn’t tell her that Emily will accept her leaving gracefully, like Emily has always accepted people leaving her. He doesn’t tell her that Dad is going to blame himself.

He doesn’t need to. She already knows.

Elle opens the door to her car and slides in. The leather seat is cold, as is the steering wheel. She turns the car on, and wraps her hands around the steering wheel, feeling the car vibrating under her. She reaches over and closes the door and grabs the shift stick, but pauses. Mom is staring at her, his face sad but resigned. She rolls down the window and sticks her head out of it.

“I’ve never been happier,” she calls over to him. “I’ve never been happier than when I was here with all of you. That’s what you can tell them.”

Mom smiles faintly, and nods. She puts the car in gear, and backs out of the driveway, backing away from the first place she called home since she was eight-years-old. Mom remains in her rearview mirror until she turns down a different street.

She knows what she’s doing will hurt the family. She knows she’s hurt them a million different ways in the three years she’s been with them. They’ve hurt her, too. But it’s the hurts that make it family. It’s the hurt that lets her know that she loves them, and that they love her.

And she does, love them. She loves them so much that it’s killing her to drive away from them. Elle hopes that they’ll never doubt her love for them, even though she knows she probably will never speak to any of them again.

She will never see Emily wake up again, cranky and ruffled, lips chapped, eyes bloodshot, and hair wild, before she’s put on the Ambassador’s Daughter face, the one that has always hurt Elle in how fake it is. She will never see JJ score seven goals in one game again, face sweaty and bright with victory, a little bit too eager to take out the opposing team. She won’t see Penelope flirt with a guy again, and she’ll never see Derek awkwardly trying to explain the family to his newest girlfriend again. She’ll never see Spencer beat Dad at chess again. She’ll never see the quiet pride on Mom’s face again.

She’ll never have a family again.

The thought nearly makes her stop, nearly makes her turn the car around and go rushing into the house, begging Mom to take her back. But she grits her teeth, wipes away the freshest wave of tears, and keeps going.

When switching lanes, she glances down at the passenger’s seat. There is a pan of brownies on it. There’s no note, but Elle doesn’t need one to know who it’s from. She watched Spencer and JJ fight over the bowl after dinner. She smiles shakily and moves her hand to wipe tears away, but she’s stopped crying, and there are none. She focuses her gaze out through the windshield, and reaches down to switch on the radio. Rock and roll comes blasting out of the speakers, and her smile stretches wider.

She’s got a job waiting for her in California, after two weeks of near constant phone calls, and an apartment just outside of UCLA. She’s got clothes and jewelry and brownies, and enough money to last her for a couple of weeks, until she gets her first paycheck. It doesn’t replace having a family, but that’s ok. She’s started her life again several times now, and one more time won’t kill her. She’s strong; she’s had to be. If she needs to, she’ll make a new family.

She’ll never forget what they gave her.

She’ll always love them.

She’s ready to start again.

Behind her, the sun rises.


End file.
